


tell me we'll never get used to it

by folignos



Category: Generation Kill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-13
Updated: 2012-06-13
Packaged: 2017-11-07 15:40:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/432765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/folignos/pseuds/folignos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Nate’s not stupid, he knows what DADT means, and he knows that he can’t afford  to ignore it, but he’s also not blind, can see how Colbert looks at him when he thinks Nate isn’t watching."</p>
            </blockquote>





	tell me we'll never get used to it

**Author's Note:**

> This is, once again, all Harri's fault. And kind of Leah's, too. They're both bad people.  
> IF YOU WANT PLOT DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT READING THIS IT IS LITERALLY JUST SEX.  
> Is that enough warning?  
> Title from Siken's Scheherazade

Nate’s not stupid, he knows what DADT means, and he knows that he can’t afford  to ignore it, but he’s also not blind, can see how Colbert looks at him when he thinks Nate isn’t watching. The last person who looked at him like that got fucked into the mattress so hard, Nate left bruises.

So really, it’s all Colbert’s fault they’re here now, in an empty, windowless office with the door locked from the inside, with Nate’s hand down his Team Leader’s fatigues and his tongue in Colbert’s mouth, fucking in and out until all he can tastes is himself and the blood from where Colbert bit the soft flesh of his lower lip. Colbert has him pushed against a wall, one hand gripping Nate’s jaw and the other splayed on the wall next to his head. Nate pushes back half-heartedly, twisting his wrist suddenly and grinning into the kiss when Colbert’s hips jerk and he growls, a strange, strangled sound that goes straight to Nate’s dick. They’re both breathing hard when they separate, Colbert’s pupils blown and his lids heavy, and he licks his lips roughly, not breaking eye contact with Nate, who’s still grinning, still gripping at the base of Colbert’s dick, squeezing gently and enjoying the huffs of breath he gets every time. He reaches up, fists one hand in the collar of Colbert’s shirt and pulls until they’re almost touching again, until he can feel Colbert’s breath hot on his lips, and when he whispers, his lips brush Colbert’s. ‘You like that, _Sergeant_?’

Colbert’s eyes flutter shut at that, and something in his chest hitches, choking sound escaping from loose lips, and Nate takes advantage of this to flip them round, yanking at Colbert’s shirt and turning with his hips until Colbert’s back is pressed against the cold stone, and Nate is flush up against him, knee pushing its way between Colbert’s thighs. ‘I asked you a question, Colbert.’ He purrs, and jerks roughly at Colbert’s dick again until the other man whines, hands scrabbling at Nate’s hips, torn between pushing him away and pulling him closer. ‘ _Did you like that?’_ He stops, suddenly, hand perfectly still, thumb just resting on the slit at the head, pressing down gently. Colbert squirms, and Nate presses harder.

‘ _Yes,’_ Colbert spits out, slamming a hand onto the wall behind him and gritting his teeth.

Nate smirks, dark, and crowds him even more, pulling his hand out of his pants and skimming fingertips along the waistband, grinning wider when he hits a patch of sensitive skin just above Colbert’s hip and he shivers, flushing. ‘Yes what?’ Nate asks, taking advantage of Brad shifting to slip a hand round to the small of his back, slipping his hand under fatigues, stiff with sweat and dust . Colbert's not wearing underwear, Nate found that out earlier, and it just makes everything easier for him. He scrapes too-long fingernails up the swell of Colbert's ass and listens to him whimper as he kisses him again, clacking their teeth together and Colbert bites him again before swiping his tongue over the cresent indents on Nate's lip.

'Yes sir,' he hisses into Nate's mouth, and it's Nate's turn to shudder, words travelling bone deep and straight to where heat pools in his belly. He's achingly hard, has been for some time, and shifts so he can arch against Colbert's thigh, untwisting his fist from Colbert's shirt to pull at his own belt, loosening it enough that he can wrap long fingers around his dick. He sighs against Colbert, who lets go of Nate's hip and where he'd been scratching his nails against the stone wall to pull at Nate's fatigues, shoving his own hand in as soon as there's room, twice the size of Nate's. Colbert's hands are sweaty, but cool, and Nate hisses as one spade-sized hand wraps around his dick and runs up and down it slowly, pressing a thumb along the underside sharply. He fumbles at Colbert's belt and zipper, shoving his fatiques down over slim hips until they're pooled on the floor, and Colbert's erection presses against Nate's stomach, sticky with pre-come.

Nate pulls back, just long enough to let Colbert step out of his fatigues and to pull his own off, shucking his boots and socks off too, pulling his shirt over his head and dropping it on the pile. He plucks at Colbert's shirt, running a hand under it and up Colbert's stomach until his thumb brushes at a nipple, making Colbert growl. 'Shirt. Off.' Nate says, simply, and backs off to sit at the desk left abandoned in the middle of the room, legs spread as he jacks off lazily, looking Colbert in the eye the whole time.

Colbert's shirt is off in double time, and Nate drags his eyes down across the expanse of pale skin, pulled taut over the muscles he's just run his hands over, down to where his dick sticks up, and he's just as hard as Nate feels. He crosses the room in two or three strides and sprawls Nate across the desk, pinning him at the chest with one forearm and planting the other hand next to Nate's head as he licks his way into his mouth. Nate growls, and bites at his tongue, wriggling underneath the bigger man's weight and then drawing a ragged breath as their erections rub together. Colbert stills above him and closes his eyes, taking a long, shallow breath. 'Up.' Nate snaps, and Colbert obeys, months and years of the Marine Corps beating it into him that when his superior officer tells him to jump, the only thing he says is how fucking high, sir?

He's standing almost at ease, hands joined behind his back, chin up, defiant almost, and Nate slides off the desk, watching as Colbert's eyes flicker down to where Nate's erection bobs before flashing back up to Nate's face and staying there, keeping eye contact as Nate orders him on his back on the desk,  'legs open, sergeant'.

Colbert always was good at following orders. Nate casts around the room quickly before rifling through the pockets of his discarded fatigues, and then Colbert's, before turning back round with a triumphant grin. Colbert hasn't moved, is propped up on his elbows, knees in the air and feet curved around the corners of the desk, on display for Nate.

He's still watching Nate, the corner of his mouth curling up slightly when Nate turns to show him the pot of gun lube he found in one of Colbert's pockets. Nate unscrews the lid, painfully slowly, and coats two fingers in it. It stinks, but it's this or nothing, and while he's sure Colbert wouldn't say anything to him about it, being fucked dry hurts, so he'll just have to deal with the smell. He presses a finger into Colbert, agonising, and smirks when he writhes, eyes screwed shut. 'Are you clean?' he asks, bending low over to breathe into Colbert's ear, grinning darkly when he flinches away from hot breath, before crying out, low and deep when Nate crooks his finger. 'Well?'

'Yes,' he bites out, moaning from somewhere deep in his throat, and Nate adds a second finger, scissoring without warning, and Colbert's hips jerk, and the desk creaks. 'Yes sir,' he throws out, voice cracking as Nate bites at his jaw, scraping at the soft skin in the hollow under his ear as he adds a third finger, moving them in and out slowly, and then faster, and then choppy, until Colbert's unravelling underneath him, begging incoherently, just a mixture of sir's and LT's, and Fick's and then, right at the end, Nate tears a please from him, and he withdraws his hands, positioning himself and sinking into Colbert in one thrust that coaxes keening sound that Nate knows Colbert would be utterly ashamed of, and would deny in later conversation. Colbert goes boneless underneath him, head falling back to clunk onto the  solid wood of the desk, and Nate pulls out almost all the way before slamming back in, and Colbert fucking yelps, knocking his head on the desk and scrabbling on the desk with the hand that isn't clenched into a fist. Nate sets a steady pace, forcing several new and interesting curses from Colbert, switching from fast to slow every so often, not giving him a chance to adjust to the new speed, and eventually he's undone, hips bucking against Nate and nonsense falls from his lips, not even real words. There's a sween of sweat covering him, and his dog tags are stuck to his chest. He looks mesmerizing, even more so when Nate thrusts once more, and Colbert's coming, muscles convulsing around Nate, sending him over the edge too, where his vision is blurred and nerve endings burn dully. He remembers to lock his knees, so he stays standing, steadying himself by slamming a hand down onto the edge of the desk and curling shaking fingers to grip. When his breath evens back out, he's fallen forward, side of his face pressed into Colbert's chest, and he can feel his heartbeat. He pulls out, and Colbert complains in a half-hearted fashion as he peels himself from Colbert, chest and stomach sticky with come and drying sweat.

Nate's silent as he dresses, fastening his pants and lacing his boots methodically. Colbert is still lying on the table, and his nakedness is glaring now that Nate's not looking at him with the glow of wanting. 'Get dressed, sergeant,' he says, bone-tired suddenly.

'You know, you fucked me on this desk not five minutes ago, LT. You can call me Brad. We've reached that point.' Colbert slides off the desk and throws his clothes on, leaving his shirt untucked and boots only half-laced.

Nate runs a hand over his hair. His hair's getting long again, growing out of the marine standard buzzcut. He can only imagine what Sixta would say if it got any longer. 'Tell your men we're on twenty five percent watch, Sergeant. Get some sleep.'

Colbert's face twitches, unreadable. The famous 'Iceman' persona is back. Nate's not going to mention how attractive he finds it when Colbert does his 'I am a bloodthirsty killing machine without emotions' thing. 'Yes, sir.' he says, finally, kicking the barricade away from the door and vanishing into the corridor. Nate is left in the middle of the room, chewing his lip, wincing when he forgets the bite mark that drew blood.

He knows he shouldn't have done that, risked his career, risked Colbert's career, but fuck it. He'd risk a hundred careers to do that again, DADT be damned.

 

 


End file.
